


Calibrachoa

by properlycolorful



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/properlycolorful/pseuds/properlycolorful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets centered around non-canon ships from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. charlie/violet: there s-he goes

**Author's Note:**

> I just really believed all of my non-canon ships needed their own space. I've seen tons of Violet/Mike, Veruca/Charlie, and I don't think they need another story, so if you're looking for that I may not be able to provide it for you. Other than that, I am fine. Anyway, most of these will have little song titles on each chapters just because I think it's cute.
> 
> \+ There She Goes - Sixpence None the Richer

“Violet, can we get a cat?” Charlie suddenly asks, lying on the other side of the bed.

The morning has yet to actually dawn on Violet. There are gold rays streaking through the pale curtains, and little dusts sprinkling through the air, but her gold hair hasn't moved an inch. He stares at her tiredly across the bed.

“Violet,” he coos. She shuffles a little beneath the thick white covers and her hair flips slightly. He smiles.

“Violet.” He pokes her side softly, moving his fingers underneath the duvet. “Can we?”

“I will shove my fist up your—if you poke me one more time, Charlie,” she mumbles softly, before moving and scooting to the corner. Her hands are still wrapped around the sheets tightly in the light of the day, when he laughs to himself cheekily at the mere notion of her annoyance. S _he's adorably grumpy in the morning._

Charlie's messy hair glows against the gold light beaming out the curtain. He squints trying to tilt his eyes toward the window, but still relishes in the feeling of the morning. Violet, on the other hand, is very different, and groans just looking at the sun. It's mostly because she “values” her sleep, and takes as much of it as she can to use as energy for her daily tournament practices and things like that. He doesn't understand how she leaves at ten and comes back at eleven, but he figures it's the sleep or something. It's mostly why he's very energetic throughout the day. _She's conditioned him_ , if he can use that word?

“Violet,” he softly says, grabbing her in his arms, “can we get a cat?”

“No,” she groans, pretending that she isn't pushing herself against him, “I hate cats, you know that. And I don't have time to take care of one in between tournaments, championships, and gymnastic practices on the weekend, I already juggle you, and you're extremely annoying—So, no.”

“Okay,” he says, pressing his lips against the back of her golden hair. _Violet continues to pretend her heart isn't fluttering._

“You're such a loser,” she scoffs, before curling herself into his arms further. He's warmer than the freaking sheets, and something about that angers her, because she hates relying on him for physical warmth, and love, and attention – it's embarrassing in general, need is for pathetic losers.

Charlie rubs her scalp softly, leaving kisses on her cheek. His feet curl around hers as he squirms above her, and _damn it, he's so adorably warm and all hers_. “I love you.”

“We're still not getting a cat,” she lastly says, before he takes her mouth in his and she's completely _utterly_ gone.


	2. mike/veruca: love me like i'm not made of stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to make something for these two. They're absolutely adorable, and brashly honest, and rude, and just terribly cute.
> 
> \+ Love Me Like I'm Not Made of Stone -- Lykke Li

"Michael, get me a glass of water," Veruca commands, rubbing her eyes roughly.

There's something about the morning after sex that makes the brunette look really funny, and Mike seems to take note of it every time. Her hair is sticking in different angles, her socks are dangling off her feet, and her shirt is way above her breasts revealing the red bra across her chest. And somewhere along of all of that, her annoyed frown seems to be the funniest thing to Mike in all of anything he's ever laughed at —besides the vexing fact that she calls him "Michael" in the morning.

He, on the other hand, lies beneath a thick pink duvet completely naked, and relishing in the feeling of _no freaking underwear. It was probably the best thing ever._

"Why can't you get it yourself? You have legs," he retorts, rolling farther within the sheets to the edge of the bed.

There's a brief silence that hovers in the room. Between the noises of children playing outside and the sound of shuffling through the sheets, the silence is almost the loudest thing. Mike, who curls closely to the edge, with only his eyes and messy hair visible through the cocoon of sheets he's made for himself, can see the dangers of this silence coming through.

"Michael." Veruca smacks his arm harshly, before continuing to pester him verbally, like the annoying piece of England trash that she was, "go get me water, for the love of God, I am not asking."

He doesn't respond, scooting farther from the girl. She kicks his thigh, tucked in pink sheets, and shoves it off the bed. "Michael."

Immediately, Mike jumps out of the tiny cocoon he's made for himself. "What the hell was that for?"

"Go get me my water," she demands, lifting her head as she lies tiredly on her elbows.

Already annoyed, he moves quickly, throwing the pink sheets across Veruca, and slipping on his underwear. He makes no move towards her before heading towards the door, and the brunette takes notice of this notion. _He's supposed to kiss her._

"Mike," she suddenly softens, which he notices, "what about my morning kiss?"

He stops in his tracks. "You're such a piece of trash, you know that?"

She'd be offended but honestly she didn't care — he's right anyway. The moment he turns around and makes his way to her across the bed, shakily carrying himself on the pink mattress, before planting a long, ardent kiss on her lips, she knows he's right.

And it's ridiculous that Mike enjoys the fact that she is, _that his girl is an English piece of trash, and that he loves her more than he can explain_.

"I love you, _you pathetic excuse of a human being_."

"I love you too, you piece of _European trash_ ," he lastly says, pressing his lips against hers softly.

_And that was that._


	3. augustus/violet: evermore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just tossing these out like ribbons, to be honest. Also, these are totally AU, they're grown up and Violet isn't purple in this story, haha.
> 
> \+ Evermore -- Barcelona

"Ugh," Violet groans, struggling to be released from the grasp of Augustus's arms.

She woke up mostly every morning like this — stuck between two large arms, suffocating and struggling to breathe, while the blond who grabbed her slept peacefully. It was really annoying, and pathetic, and it needed to stop before she ended up twisting one of his arms. And she knew how sensitive Augustus was so that would never end well.

It just angered her how the white spacious mattress was large, comfortable, and warm; she didn't understand why he had to hold her into such a tiny space. It was vexing, and much of a headache.

"Augustus, move you piece of—" Violet pushed at his arms, her feet squirming as she tried. Her stomach was literally hurting from his tight grasp — she might have to congratulate him; she literally couldn't fight him.

Growing immediately tired, she turned and faced the blond teddy bear. His skin was so red, much like the cheeks of a clown, and he puckered his lips so adorably in sleep—she won't ever tell him that because it's really creepy and totally uncool—but he looked perfectly adorable...and hers.

She poked at his nose suddenly, quickly removing it because that was weird, and slightly gross, and she needed to stop.

Nevertheless, the day was an early one, beginning from the gold that the sun beamed across the curtains of their room and the window high above. Augustus had a large place, one with a television set, a bathroom, and a high ceiling — and it was just the bedroom. However, the light scattered all across the room and she felt like she was in a warm little bird nest—ew, that was a weird simile or whatever. And she liked that about being with him.

Abruptly, his eyes opened and blue irises flashed at the smaller girl. She smiled at him, annoyance and exhaustion tinting at her cheeks, while her finger still curled beside her.

"Are you ready to let me go now? I have to take a shower, Gloop," Violet says, lifting her tiny head at his rather large one.

He notices the arm around her waist. "Oh, sorry."

Quickly, and rather harshly, he pulls his arms away, and Violet suddenly feels the cold air brush up her exposed arms. She misses his hold already.

Maybe, she could stay in a little longer? Maybe, four minutes?

She made a mental note to count in her head, before grabbing his arms around hers, and settling closely before him as he stared confused.

"I don't mind, and you weren't ready to let me go so," she notes, pressing her head gently against his chest — embarrassingly, "you can hold me for four minutes. I have practice today, and I need to be early."

"Okay," he mutters, softly stroking her hair as she lied quietly beside him, "I love you, Violet."

"Yeah," she nodded, pressing her lips on his rather large ones, "you too Gloop."

And she really loved him.


	4. augustus/veruca: magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what's here! Yay!
> 
> \+ Magic -- Colbie Caillat

It's six in the morning and the sun is missing from the sky. You could see dark hues of purple expanding through the window, while light strokes of orange colored the spaces. Veruca usually woke up at this time, unable to go back to sleep, but Augustus slept like a baby.

“Wake up,” she mutters, harshly poking his round sides. “Augustus!”

Augustus doesn't respond. His body moves across the bed, taking the pink sheets along with him. She scoffs at his ridiculous lack of hearing and intensive deep sleeping; _how would he hear her in a time of danger? She felt so unsafe around this pathetic German—her German._

“Augustus!” She shouts once more, scooting closer towards his body. She could almost feel the warmth radiating off of it. “Wake up.”

She waits. Nothing stirs.

Immediately, she grows tired, reacting violently to the feeling. Using her small feet, coated in tiny purple socks, she kicks the boy beside her gently in the rib cage. She knew he didn't really feel pain—such an odd one. He was literally made out of titanium or a some heavy substance that, for dear life, could not move.

But she waits anyway.

He doesn't move.

 _Are you kidding me? Dear God, he was actually a bear._ Veruca visibly shakes from the anger, and ends up kick him harder than intended. It was enough to push him off the bed, and she gasped from her force. “Augustus! Oh dear Lord.”

She guesses she could fight off the dangers by herself, by the looks of her strength.

Nevertheless, the blonde's eyes open finally, and Veruca's sympathetic grin is the first one he sees. “Ouch.”

She smiles, sliding to the floor next to him—even though it was pitifully dirty. She at least owed him to help him up. “Are you alright? You wouldn't wake and I—”

“It's okay,” he softly replies, returning a much more adorable smile. She felt like kissing him just by looking at it—

And actually, she did, lying on her knees to press her lips tenderly on his. She felt the warmest feeling settle in her stomach. It almost made her understand why people considered love to be the closest thing to magic because it most positively felt like it.

“Now,” she begins, breaking from the kiss, “I'm thirsty, get me water?”

Augustus only laughs, making his way off the floor. _She was rather terrible, but he loved her, and nobody really was perfect anyway._

_And that was them._


	5. charlie/mike: soft shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you guys didn't expect another post, huh? Well...I have time on my hands this week, and since writing is one of the funnest remedies for boredom I wrote this. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> \+ Soft Shock -- Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Charlie flutters his eyelids delicately, catching the dust that sprints across the rays of light above his head. He always seems to wake up earlier than Mike, and for some reason that idea is comforting. He never has to worry about Mike sliding away from him or jumping out the bed to play video games until he wakes up—which really doesn't bother him, it's just nice to be in his arms for a while.

Nevertheless, Mike lies beside him, eyes tightly shut, and shirtless, with only purple shorts on, while his head falls onto the pillow. He has his arm beneath Charlie's head, and the space between them is rather large. But, Charlie doesn't move because all he wants to do is stare and rest in this easy silence.

Mike doesn't like to admit it, but Charlie knows he likes to “cuddle” against him. It's enormously obvious in the arm that sits beneath him, forcing Charlie to move closer though he never does.

“I never knew you liked to stare at me this much,” Mike suddenly says, breaking the silence with his words. His eyes open not a moment later, leisurely. “I mean you can stare at me all you want, but all of this attention is really unnecessary since you already have me.”

Charlie smiles, moving closer to close the gap between their bodies. His leg loops through Mike's almost naturally, and he places his head onto the other's chest. He loves how warm he always is.

“Yeah, but you don't talk as much,” the snuggling man replies, laughing against Mike's chest.

Charlie feels the warmer one chuckle, before he turns to face him. He meets big brown eyes that flash softly across his own sight, while Mike traces his long fingers on the other's pallid, snow bitten skin.

He's in love, always has been, always will, but he won't tell him. And, anyway, Charlie knows.

“You don't really mean that,” Mike teases, leaning in slowly, “you love to hear me talk, you loser.”

Charlie smiles again, pinching the other's shirt, provoking a reaction. “Not really. It's not as nice as silence.”

But, Mike is a genius; he already knows what he wants. He knows that look in his eyes—the lust, the desire, and the dilation—and he delivers...in his own way. “Oh, okay. I guess I might as well leave—”

He has legs moving from Charlie's, and his hands ripping away, and sheets unraveling, but the brunette pulls him back quickly and scoots closer to reach him faster. Mike knows his plans work efficiently, but he didn't know the results were that quick.

“No, no, no, I'm kidding, I'm joking,” he frantically spews out, “please stay, I like it when you talk.”

Mike grins, moving towards the male on the other side of the bed. He takes no time in settling in his arms. “Okay, okay, I'll stay.”

Charlie, in a grey shirt and white boxer briefs that hang lazily on his hip, holds on tightly to the smaller man. His head lies beside the cheek of the other, and he's resisting the urge to kiss him yet again.

Last night that led to something else.

But, on the contrary, Mike doesn't care. He takes one quick turn, facing Charlie briefly, before his lips connect softly and ferociously against the softer one's.

The taller man laughs, breaking the kiss momentarily. “This is why I hate it when you're awake.”

Mike simply grins, rolling on top of Charlie for another round of sexual activities. It's his favorite pass time anyway, and it's not like Charlie wouldn't like it. He always did.

_And that was that._


	6. mike/augustus: slow hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop! It's finally here! I think this has to be one of my favorites, by the way! I really wanted to flesh Mike out, but also demonstrate how far Augustus's love, for everyone, stretches. Anyway, after this prompt I have to start a new one, so please suggest some prompts for me to do? I'd love to hear your ideas.
> 
> \+ Slow Hands -- Interpol

Augustus thinks it's funny, r _eally funny._

During the day, Michael is intensely aggressive, independent, and brash. He pushes at Augustus, almost like a soft hurricane, all instinct—which honestly never really bothers Augustus because he knows he doesn't mean it, can't help it. The feelings that whirl within his head aren't intentional, they're habitual, and he knows he struggles with them consistently, because he's got so many walls to destroy before he can even get to the soft core. Augustus manages to jump over a few walls sometimes, but he can never flesh him out enough.

And then, during the middle of sunrise, at the crack of the horizon, something unravels. Mike opens up—like those bright yellow flowers in spring.

The blonde flickers his bright blue eyes open, sometimes missing the things around him and filling the cracks with blurry splotches, but he never misses Michael's eyes. As brown and as big as they are, it was impossible to avoid them.

“I'm sorry,” he always tells him, his eyes alike horizontal teardrops, “I was a jerk yesterday, wasn't I?”

Augustus smiles, finding it amusing that he was being apologetic for being human—for making mistakes—and being himself. It's always the same thing every morning, and he never understands why he judges himself so harshly. If he couldn't handle him, or the pathetic lies he tells him all the time, then he wouldn't have jumped over the moon to keep him. Augustus is determined for the things he wants, knowing full well of the consequences, and is fine with paying for them later, that includes Michael. He's never going to hold anything against him. He knew very well what he was getting into when Mike made him vow to stay single—just for him—at Charlie's post wedding party almost three years ago.

(“You promise me you're not getting married Augustus, right?”

They're in the bathroom stall of this really tiny ballroom that Violet for some reason hates, and there's bad smell flowing all over the stalls. The smaller man is leaning against the wall, his shoulder slouched. He remembers feeling so nervous to be so close to him—so close to possibly making a fool of himself. Michael would have never made him live it down.

“I don't know if I can do that Michael,” he responds, knowing fully well that he could fall in love with anyone, anything. All of his friends were lovely, especially Michael, and it was inevitable for him to fall in love.

But he remembers how it felt like, how it made him stop breathing, how it made his heart stop, when Mike took a step forward, grabbed his face in his hands, and smacked their lips together. It almost sucked the life out of him, like a bittersweet punch, and it left him with nothing to remember but the feeling in his stomach. Quick, hard, and slightly agonizing was the kiss—and Augustus wouldn't have it any other way.

“What about now?” Michael mumbles, looking at him with such intensity he swore his stomach had no bottom.)

Now, Augustus stares back at him, with soft eyes like always. “No. You were just being yourself—if it is a jerk that you are, then maybe—but that is when I love you best Michael.”

Mike smiles, pressing his lips against the larger one beneath the warm glow of the sun. It's probably eight in the morning, but he's never felt better, and he really hates telling him this but it rolls off his tongue so easily, “I love you Augustus—don't make me say it twice.”

And, he won't— _doesn't_.

 

 


	7. charlie/violet: friday i'm in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cousin was playing Mario Kart Wii all day. I just had to do this-- I was literally fishing for ideas all week, so expect this to go on for every single ship listed. I absolutely love the game and I had to see the CATCF cast play this game. Anyway, hope you find this chapter enjoyable and that it puts a tiny smile on your face, yeah?
> 
> \+ Friday I'm In Love -- The Cure

“What the f—Bowser!” Violet screams, twisting the white remote in her hand to the left. “I will freaking shove all those bananas up your—oh my god, I swear—”

“It's only a game Violet, relax.” Charlie smiles, his long fingers gently swerving the controller in his grasp.

There's about seven different things happening inside the game, besides the giant caterpillars crossing half of the screen. Not to say that it's hectic or anything, because it's Maple Treeway—easiest, simplest round—but the distractions drive almost anyone crazy, especially Violet. Different animated characters, particularly one Bowser, bump and shove continuously until the race ends—unless you're lucky enough to be in first place. There's bananas, green shells, red shells, blue shells, faux boxes, bombs, lightning, and even freaking bullets that could advance you to anywhere. Violet isn't lucky enough to get any of those, besides that sticky black substance that squirts in people's vision, and she yells in every second that she isn't fighting to stay in 5th place. Charlie, on the other hand, is in 1st place.

“What the hell!?” Violet jumps in her seat, bouncing _just enough_ on the couch to throw Charlie momentarily off. She curls her toes and bites her teeth; Charlie can tell she's fighting to not punch him. Through the valley of orange trees and brown pathways, she struggles to stay alive. He feels sorry for her...really, in the corner of his eye he catches Baby Peach shoving at Waluigi—Violet—and he struggles to not laugh. “Oh my god, Peach! I will punch you straight up your vagina, I'm not kidding. I will murder you...so extremely hard,” she says senselessly, not paying attention to her words, “like so hard, you will not realize how hard. But it's hard, so very hard, harder than any other experience, very, very hard.”

Charlie laughs, realizing the ridiculous usage of sexual innuendo in her words. There's an empty look in her eyes as she faces the screen before her—and really he's hardly paying attention to this game—and it's so silly seeing her lose herself to this game. It's just a game—but don't get him wrong, this game is absolutely crazy. He still can't get past freaking Moonview Highway, he gets 8th place in that race every time. However, it's so much fun to see her get mad. And to beat her at at least something. “It's not funny Charlie. Every single freaking round this princess bimbo shoves me to the side yet never freaking wins the race. Do you know how embarrassing and irritating that it is? She's like my brother's girlfriend, and I am not a loser—“ She vociferates and spits, holding her blue eyes towards the bouncing net in the screen.

“But, you've lost before?” Charlie innocently comments, turning his remote to the left harshly. Drifting through the trees, he spends much of his eyes focusing on the screen. He can't see Violet's glare, but he certainly feels it.

“I will fracture you,” she only says.

“Violet, it's just a game—“ He tells her, before she shoves Luigi, or Charlie, to the side of the huge log and he falls into his demise.

Immediately, Charlie realizes this is not just a game. This is life. “How about now, you idiot?”

“What? What'd you do that for?” He mumbles softly, blinking at the “1st” letters lower down to “2nd.” It was in bright blue letters, almost taunting him, and his heart fell at the notion. All of his hard work: gone, just like that. “I thought—you!—oh you're so getting it now Violet.”

“Bring it on Buckett.”

Suddenly, Charlie tilts his remote upwards, holding it in its horizontal position. There's a small wind that blows around the bike and he smiles because he knows he can make it before the finish line. He's done this before, many, many times before. He's smooth through the brown path, fast, sneaky, conniving, avoiding all the shoves, bumps, and bananas being thrown. As a matter of fact, he manages to throw a couple, directly aiming them at shells that were mere seconds to hitting his bike. He feels like a king—and boy does he get why Violet rides on that royalty high all day.

It only takes a few seconds to pass her, she grumbles loudly beside him. “You piece of dolphin feces, oh my god. I hate—“

Charlie passes the finish line. Brilliant, shimmery “1st place” flashes in the corner. He grins.

“—you—ugh! Oh my god, again?! What kind of stuff are you taking?”

Violet throws the white remote on the couch, letting it bounce lightly, before she stomps out of the room. And the minute she leaves, Charlie punches his fist against the air in front of him, kicking his feet in delight. Revenge is always best served cold....through Mario Kart Wii. He could get why she considered it more than a game—a life, maybe? But nevertheless, he knows he has to make amends—or he might sleep in the living room tonight just because Luigi passed the finish line before Waluigi.

“Violet, I'm sorry,” he coos, standing up to make his way to the bedroom? Is that where she is? “I'm just really good at it. Don't be mad at me—“

“Shut up, Charlie,” she yells, scooping nutella bits from the large jar. She's in the kitchen _,_ folding her white sock covered toes against her shin. And it's almost like she refuses to look at him, or even acknowledge that he truly exists. It was a bittersweet feeling to win sometimes, but it was necessary.

“I'm sorry. I love you, you know that,” he coaxes, wrapping his arms around her. Her gold bob flips away from him, and he feels so incessant to get close to her again. He takes a treacherous step forward, but she doesn't move. It gives him the tiniest initiative to squish himself against her, pressing his lips against her bob. He can already feel her smile growing, so gradually, but so warmly. “Violet, c'mon. One more track. You're getting good, you know?”

“I am?” She mumbles in the tiniest voice, her blue eyes turning to flash at his. _God, she was the greatest._

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” Violet sighs, sliding out of his grasp. “One more race, but I am winning this time! You are not the king of this game!”

_No she's not—but it's always great to be positive,_ he thinks.  _After all, it'll help ease her wounds, no?_

 


	8. mike/veruca: fade into you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Mario Kart saga continues.
> 
> \+ Fade Into You -- Mazzy Star

Veruca squeals loudly, turning her white remote slightly to the left, before she jolts in her seat. “Oh for the love of—why did you even choose this stupid track?”

Mike rolls his empty, yet focused eyes. He hates (but loves?) playing certain games with Veruca, especially Mario Kart. She's so annoying and infuriating; the feeling of sitting beside her through a whole game play is bittersweet. Grumble Volcano isn't the hardest of the hardest—he thinks that mostly all of them are ridiculously easy—but he gets why she struggles so much with this specific track. Veruca sucks, she terribly, abysmally, honestly sucks. She doesn't know how to use her items, nor how to drift, or keep her vehicle within the confines of the shaky pathways. The girl falls into the lava all of the time—there has literally never been a time where she doesn't suck at this specific track, or any of the others. But, it's so fun to see her suck so bad, especially since she never gets any better. He falls into 1 st place, but she falls into 12 th ...a lap behind.

“Oh my god, Michael!” She starts, scrunching her nose tightly. “I hate this stupid track, can we please stop playing?”

Teavee keeps his eyes locked onto the wide screen, centered on every crisp, smooth turn. Veruca is jealous, maybe not a whole lot, but certainly a good bit.

“Michael!” Her voice gets louder, as Peach—or Veruca—falls into the lava again.

Mike is in a cave, isolated, alone, but his bike revs and he likes the sound of that. He isn't in the living room, nor next to the bickering girl, or even in the United States. He's in Grumble Volcano; Donkey Kong is in Grumble Volcano and he's winning in 1 st place. Somewhere through all of that, the girl beside him notices. She's a lot more observant than she appears, and she notices. She notices—and it kind of hurts that he's ignoring her, despite the mere notion:  _yes, Veruca stinks at this game and she wants out._ He can be quite a giant jerk sometimes and it irritated her.

“ Are you even listening to me?” She asks, pretending that he is within this realm, dimension, and not in another, while Peach has just reached the 2 nd lap.

There's twists and turns and little cracks that shake at Veruca, allowing her to barely save herself before she is submerging in lava. It's so stupid, but she's actually trying, she's actually really trying, because this is Mike and this is a game, right? Games are like bridges to him— _is she trying to connect with him_ ? She really doesn't know, honestly, but it's impossible anyway. She wants to kill herself from trying. They're supposed to be bonding and things like that, mostly from the success, but she's just whimpering, whining, and pleading to escape from this stupid, stupid game—

“ Take your time when you drift,” Michael suddenly mumbles, his eyes filling with something other than focus— _softness, sympathy, pity_ ? Usually the mix was disgusting and she hated it from anyone, but not from him, never from him. “You're rushing and it messes up your drifts, be smooth with them.”

Veruca slumps her shoulders, flipping her foot beneath her thigh. “Yeah, but I'm a lap behind and if I want to win—”

“ If you catch a box, the little rainbow ones,” he softly tells her, taking his time with his instructions, “you really won't need to rush at all. They'll give you some really sweet stuff like rockets, mushrooms, and stars—they make you go fast.”

He's still looking at the game, but his eyes aren't as sharp, cold, mean? Veruca isn't looking, she's trying really hard in the game, but she can see through the side of her eyes that his face is softer than just a few minutes ago. He looks like he's juggling two thoughts at once maybe? She shakes her thigh a little and swerves her remote softly, paying attention to his instructions. Peach is very close to falling off the edge, but makes it by just an inch out of the dark cave.  _Huh_ , she thinks,  _his advice worked._

“ You see?” Michael continues, tilting the remote a little. “You made it—just relax when it comes to drifts, they take a little time.”

Veruca smiles harder than she's ever smiled before. His soft and sensitive way with words were making her blush,  _you should see when he's not playing a video game and when he's doing something else_ . But, nevertheless, she listens to each and every one of his commands—she only ever does when he's being polite—and succeeds with flying colors,  _is that how people say it?_ She doesn't win, especially since she was a lap behind, but she feels a lot more prepared if she were to ever play this track again. And for that, she mumbles a tiny, “thank you.”

He's about to start a new race, moments just after they've finished, but Veruca takes his face in her hands and kisses him. He's struggling not to smile when she lets go—especially since every thought in his head that passes is a bizarre “do you want to do that track again?” or “i'll let you marry me if you get 1 st place” but he shuts up before saying something he'll end up giving to her _anyway._

Because yeah, he has a soft spot for her, but  _who cares_ ?

 


	9. violet/augustus: imprint after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Another Mario Kart fic! You all are probably screaming in annoyance, but I really can't help it. I love Mario Kart so dearly.
> 
> \+ Imprint After - Toro Y Moi

Augustus angled the white remote in his hands to the left. Though his eyes were focused and narrow, Violet knew he didn't understand a single thing on the screen—nor in the game. She sheepishly chuckled to herself, _yet again she was winning at something he couldn't._

“Need help, Gloop?”

The corner of Violet's smile extended toward her cheeks. Augustus squeezed his eyebrows together at this. He couldn't understand this game. You were supposed to play as an cartoon, riding around in a tiny motorcycle, circling around and around some weird place that he doesn't know of, until you finish the game?  _Huh? How was this fun?_ He never really understood video games—and he certainly didn't understand this one. His character, a tiny green frog (he thinks it's called Yoshi?), kept getting stuck in front of these sand-block, or maybe rock, stacks that jump in front of his way. And every time he turned to avoid them, there's these small, peculiar, fire things that stepped right beside him to burn him. His poor character kept getting hurt, and it was making him feel angry to see his little sad face when he loses the race.

“Violet,” he complained, furrowing his eyebrows a little more, “I don't understand this game. My frog keeps getting hurt, how do I save him?”

Violet's eyes shut for a split second;  _was he seriously feeling bad for Yoshi? Oh my god,_ she groaned within her head,  _seriously?_ They were just supposed to play a little Mario Kart, just one cup, four tracks, starting with Dry Dry Ruins, before she ran off to training, and he to work. It wasn't supposed to be emotionally draining, but then again this was the guy who cried during Frozen—what did she expect? He was a feeler, he felt everything, everyone, and anything, and he could relate to people's experiences without experiencing them himself. It was great for many things, but then just sometimes frustrating. Violet was not a feeler, she was barely emotionally aware. Therefore, this frequent having-to-cheer-him-up shtick was getting old...fast.

“You have to stop sucking and win the race,” she replied curtly, and a little too brashly, “but that's impossible since you suck.”

Augustus grumbled lightly; Violet could tell she offended him.  _She didn't answer his question and she made fun of his lack of understanding, or frustration,_ she understood. She didn't need to ask and she didn't need him to say it. She knew him better than she knew herself. If he really wanted something badly, he was going to get it, no matter the consequences. It was one of things she especially loved about him, though it was usually infuriating. He wanted to save his “frog” and he was going to do anything just to do that.  _Freaking softy._

“ You have to turn at the right time, Augustus,” she suddenly softly said,  _and she had no idea why she was being so nice, “_ you're hitting all the drifts too late.”

“H _uh_ ? Drifts?” He turned to her, facing her with his vibrant, doughy eyes. If she hadn't softened up already, she was certainly feeling nice and compassionate now. She pressed the plus button on the side, waited for the game to pause, and scooted closer to this teddy bear guy she fell so stupidly for.

“Drifts are those really big turns that throw you off—y'know the ones that come out of nowhere that make you bump into stuff?”

“Oh okay,” he murmurs, turning towards the television, before eyeing her again.  _He still doesn't get it._

Violet wraps her hands around Augustus's, softly and warmly, and holds the white remote in her hands. She presses the nice little plus at the edge of the remote and continues the race. He understands what this means and what it leads to so he lets her guide him for a little while.  _Her hands are as warm as ever,_ but he doesn't tell her that because he knows how offended she gets—even though he really knows that she likes it. And the whole race is really a blur when she's guiding him, but he tries to keep himself focused.

“Mmm,” Augustus emits, “I think I'm going to win.”

“Yeah,” she replies, sincerely, almost strangely light, “you're good, just keep your eyes on the road, alright Gloop?”

He doesn't really mean to, but he removes his gaze from the tiny little game, and faces the brash blonde. She's got the most bluest eyes, maybe even more bluer than his, and when she smiles at him—like she's doing now—he sometimes thinks about how ridiculous it is that she hates hearing him say that she's beautiful.

Violet presses a light peck to the center of his mouth, before forcing his head towards the television. “Keep your eyes on the game Augustus.”

And he tries, mostly unsuccessfully.

 


	10. augustus/veruca: folds in your hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while. I'm sorry it's been so long, but I get too lazy to write sometimes. Not to mention that I can procrastinate so well. Literally, those are two skills of mine, besides writing. 
> 
> Anyway, the Mario Kart saga continues!
> 
> \+ Folds In Your Hands -- Passion Pit

Veruca hates this game. She seriously hates this game.

She and Augustus have been running around all two laps clueless about what to do. There's cars coming to and fro from every side of the street; her character keeps falling off the cliff every time she thinks she's been successful in avoiding them, but they're too large and fast that she never does. She thinks Moonview Highway has to be the hardest track she's ever been on, especially now that she's doing pretty okay in the mushroom and flower cup—although, Augustus would disagree about the level of hardness on those two. But, that bear doesn't know how to play anything so she never really listens.

“Ugh,” Veruca blurts, throwing herself onto the other side of the couch, “I hate this stupid game.”

“So let's stop playing it,” he simply says, softly turning his remote—and she has no idea why he does it like that, especially when he's losing.

“No,” she quickly replies, never moving her eyes away from the screen, “I'm just expressing my thoughts about this ridiculous, stupid, silly, and almost redundant game, but I still want to play.”

“Okay,” Augustus answers back, shrugging his shoulders as he returns to the game. It doesn't really bother him that she wants to play; he likes the little frogs and people in the game, it makes it so much fun, especially after a long day. Being with Veruca is difficult and a little bit exhausting, more so because of her parents—no offense. Ever since he laid eyes on her, and he means _really_ laid eyes on her, her dad has been watching him like those birds that stalk on big, big buildings. He doesn't want Augustus doing this, he doesn't want Augustus doing that. Augustus has to act accordingly, Augustus must think logically—never let your emotions rule your decisions and rationality. _“You must be prepared Augustus, this company is not like any other. There's hard work that goes into an esteemed place like this,”_ he tells him almost all the time, so taking a break in these little mini games is always really fun.

But, he'd never tell Veruca about any of that. _He would never want to burden her;_ he's doing it all for her—because he loves her—and sometimes you do things you don't always want to do for love.

“Augustus, move,” she suddenly says, “you're just standing there, you're going to lose.”

His little frog is frozen in place, waiting for him to press two. Augustus has to shake himself a little just to bring his focus back into the game. Veruca notices that he's thinking about something, or was, but never says anything about it. She never liked to bother him if he was thinking about something. She figured she'd bother him about it later, when she wasn't trying to get first place. He always tells her most of his thoughts anyway.

“Veruca,” he suddenly begins, “Can I ask you something?”

Veruca can't really be bothered right now. She's doing so well and if she even stutters then the car will squash her before she realizes that it's coming. Nevertheless, she rubs her eyes softly, and takes a deep, deep breath, and prepares herself for something absolutely silly. “What?”

“Do you like playing this game with me?”

Veruca softens her face a little. “Of course I do.”

 _Why wouldn't she?_ Even if he was losing, and will always be quite terrible at this game, she liked playing with him. She really did. “Why?”

“Huh?” She turns her head, but not before pressing the small little plus on the white remote. “What do you mean 'why'?”

“Why?” He continues, blinking his bright blue eyes at her. “Why do you like playing with me?”

She didn't really know why, to be honest. He was abysmal at it, and he constantly asked stupid questions, but she still liked playing with him. She really did. It wasn't the way he cheered for her when she won, and it certainly wasn't the joy that remained his face throughout the game, even when he lost. She just liked playing with him―she just liked being around him. He was really ridiculous sometimes, and a little too pliant, with the most stupid questions, but he was kind and generous and compassionate. His laughter was so contagious―and the jokes he made during the game weren't even that bad. She supposes she likes playing with him, because she really loves him. Veruca just wanted to do things with people that she likes, because there aren't that many, to be honest. But, with Augustus around, she didn't really care.

“Because―because I love you,” she simply replies, “and it's not that bad playing games with people that I love.”

 Augustus smiles and Veruca swears she can see the stars in his eyes.

Before she's properly accessing what she's doing, her hand slowly falls on his and she leans forward to kiss him, and all the little butterflies in her stomach start flying again. And then Augustus realizes that it's not that you do things you don't always want to do when you love someone, but that you do things for who you love in mind―and suddenly, it's not that you didn't want to do it, but that you did―because you loved them.

_And that was that._

 


	11. mike/charlie: obstacle 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while, huh? Sorrrry, really, honestly.
> 
> \+ Obstacle 2 - Interpol

_How dare he?_

_How dare you,_ Mike thinks.

Their characters have been tied for two rounds—in _first_ place. Swirling, drifting, and bumping into one another, Luigi and Donkey Kong are a match. Mike thinks a small bit of vomit threatens to come up his throat when he thinks about it. Looming above dated, yet still _fine_ -looking pixelated red carpets and stone tiles, they race side by side. He doesn't remember where all the other characters went, but they passed by them _ages_ ago. He doesn't play this game to win anymore—that's already been done. Mike confides in this game to bring him consistent validation that he _is_ the best.

Then, Charlie admitted to being _pretty good._ “I'm pretty good at it, but you could always be better, I don't know,” he had said.

Mike looked at him with such stunned, big eyes—mostly from exhilaration. Now, he could beat him at it—and prove he _wasn't_ pretty good. Belittling others and showing them up happened to be his favorite things, even if Charlie typically gave him his ten-minute long speeches about _sympathy, caring_ about other people, and yada, yada, yada—though, it did work, because he never really feels the need to undermine people anymore if they're gonna get emotional about it.

Yet, here he is, teetering on the brink of undermining Charlie and _boom! It_ turns out he actually is a successful player.

Donkey Kong turns along the stone wall, almost colliding against it, and Mike _really_ wants to punch his _own_ wall. He won't, though, because Charlie would get upset and... well, Mike _doesn't_ want that. He hates feeling... small, but... he also hates making Charlie feel angry—especially if he shouldn't be. He's in first place— _ugh_ —right along with him so it would be _unfair_... and... _stupid_ to do that.

“So, I am pretty good then,” Charlie blurts next to him. “Right, Mike?”

 _Oh, he's teasing! How evil,_ Mike shouts to himself.

He hates this sense of equality when it comes to something that's _his._ Well, besides quantum physics, geography, molecular chemistry, geology, and math in any shape, color, or form. Video games are his. How could Charlie be good at this? _It's—it's not right, it's not ethical,_ Mike thinks.

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he bites back sarcastically, as playfully as he can, but he can tell Charlie knows he's sweating, angry, and... well, afraid.

At some point, inside of the virtual reality, they begin to near the end of the lap. They're still sort of tied with each other—either Charlie moving up or Mike moving up—and he can't believe this, but he's... exhilarated. The adrenaline in his body is lighting his blood on fire. He doesn't want to lose—he _can't_ lose. He's not sure why, but there's probably some underlying psychological problem there that he'll ignore for eternity.

Though, he can't lie... this rush, this _desperation_... is kind of... making him feel... _hot._

 _That is... so weird_ , he tells himself. He is not going to try to understand that... at all. It's freaking him out anyway. “You're going down Buckett,” he says.

Racing beneath archways, corridors, and a night sky, the two characters quietly steer along each other.

Then, the unthinkable happens, Charlie passes him. Four feet away from the finish line, along the stone tiles, Luigi passes Donkey Kong—and he, successfully, effectively, wins.

Mike drops his white remote. Charlie pumps his own through the air. Today was a turning point in Mike's history. He would cry about it, but he's never been able to tear up about... losing. Losing made him angry, frustrated, and wrathful.

The strange thing is... he isn't.

He's... feeling hot... _still._

“Uh, Charlie,” Mike mumbles, refusing to look at him in a moment of defeat, “you did good, _really_ good. But, uh... can we... head off... to the, uh—bedroom?”

After all that stammering, Charlie's eyebrows do a dance, but then they relent and, _finally_ , decide to go up. He's _gladly_ shocked, Mike can tell. He's shocked himself, because he's never really felt this kind of heat before... at least, not in this way, and when he does, it's because he's playing from excitement and enthusiasm, but never from... losing.

That's just _weird_.

“Wha—what? You—you want t—to go—“

“Don't make this any weirder,” Mike sighs out, before grabbing his hand in a haste, “let's just go and get this over with.”

“O—okay,” Charlie manages to blurt lastly as his eyes go big and bold with excitement before Mike pulls him up and out of the living room.

 _Let's just say,_ Mike will definitely, _gladly_ lose to his boyfriend again. _As often as often,_ he excitedly tells him, after they've _finished_.

And that was _definitely_ that.

 


End file.
